


A Future With You

by localgoblin



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Childhood Friends, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friends to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-02-28 08:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13267485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/localgoblin/pseuds/localgoblin
Summary: The first day Brana met Sigurd she knew they belonged to each other. She sees their future so clearly in his eyes. She just can’t tell him she does.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The song for this chapter is I've Just Seen A Face by The Beatles.  
> Enjoy ya'll!

“Nanna, why can’t I go to the ritual tonight?” Brana asked as she busied herself with braiding the snow-white hair of her guardian. It was not the first time she’d asked this of Nanna, and it likely wouldn’t be the last. The child’s curiosity about magic never ceased to amuse the old woman, though at times Brana crossed a line into petulance and childish fits.

“Brana, you’ve been told four times today alone! You can’t take place in the rituals until you’re ready.” This explanation came not from Nanna, but from Unn, who was preparing the elder Volva’s robes for the night. Where Nanna was likely to indulge Brana’s countless questions or answer the child with questions and riddles of her own, it was Unn who kept her on task and handled the discipline when needed.

“I am ready, though! You’re letting Ylsa, and she’s younger than I am by a whole year!” Brana whined. A lapse in attention at this point caused her to pull a strand of Nanna’s hair a little too harshly, and the old woman let out a soft grunt of discomfort. Brana’s attention snapped back to her braiding at the sound and guilt made her quiet again.

“Don’t fret so much little bird, or you’ll make me bald before my time.” Nanna soothed and reached a wrinkled hand up to pat Brana’s delicately. “And you know well enough being ready is not about age. You must have a vision before you begin learning with your sisters.” Brana knew this already and had been told the same thing a hundred times. It never seemed fair to her.

“What if I never have a vision? You’ll leave me with Unn to wash dishes and braid hair while everyone else learns to weave and scry.” Brana’s voice wavered a bit at the thought of being barred from learning magic all her life. Time and time again Nanna and Unn reassured her that she was Volva, a girl graced with talent in magic and future sight, but without proof she’d begun to doubt them.

“Even if you have a vision, I will keep you washing dishes and braiding hair. With or without magic you will contribute to this group, Brana.” Unn said, her hands on her hips and her lips pinched in disapproval.

Brana looked at Unn as if she’d just threatened to kick a puppy. She hadn’t caught the hurt in Unn’s voice, only the anger. Soft hiccups started in her throat and her lip trembled. Moments later the dam burst and Brana was sobbing. “You’re so mean Unn! You don’t think I’ll ever be capable of magic. Meanie Unn! You’re awful!” The words poured out of her as fast as her tears did. Unable to calm down, Brana chose instead to run from the room.

Unn and Nanna called after her as she sprinted through the camp towards the woods. It wasn’t until she was too far away for their voices to reach that she stopped. Her lungs stung from the chill air and her legs burned with every step. Glancing back towards the camp, she briefly considered walking back before she got in trouble for abandoning her chores.

“Ylsa can do the stupid chores. I’ll teach myself magic,” she scoffed, making her choice. Turning on her heel, she stomped off in the direction of the river. She’d been there before with Unn and believed with a child’s determination that if she stared long enough into the water, Freya would grant her a sign. More than a sign! Surely Freya would recognize how unfair the whole situation was and gift her with a great prophecy that even Nanna would be surprised to learn.

These fantasies kept Brana company on the walk and stuck with her as she settled down by the bank. Realizing she had no idea how to even begin, she tried to remember the times she’d seen Nanna, Unn, or any of the other witches scry. First, she tried to mimic Nanna. Placing her hands just above the surface of the water, rolling her eyes up in an effort to make the whites show, and and then speaking in a hushed tone, “Freyja mother, hear me and um… help me see the future.”

Trying to keep her eyes rolled up so high only gave her a headache, and no visions came to her from the gods. Refusing to give up, she tried next to emulate Unn. Leaning forward over the water and gripping the bank tightly, she screwed up her face to glare into the depths. “Give it up, river. Tell me your secrets.” Her voice didn’t carry nearly the same threat that Unn’s would when the woman threatened her scrying bowl. All Brana saw in the river was her own wavering reflection as the water rolled by.

A soft splash interrupted her, and she looked up just in time for a flat stone to skip by and sink with a splunk, close enough that water sprayed up in her face. “Hey! That’s cold!” Brana said as she sprung to her feet to glare at a boy standing further up the bank.

“Don’t glare into my river like an idiot if you don’t want to be splashed,” came his tart reply before he picked up another rock and skipped it across the water.

“You’re the idiot. You can’t own a river.” Brana grabbed a stone and attempted to skip it upstream back at him. The rock fell in with a splunk immediately and the boy began laughing. “Don’t laugh! You troll face.” Brana found another rock and didn’t even try to skip it that time. Just lobbed it towards the boy, smiling in satisfaction when it landed near enough to splash him in return.

“You can’t splash me!” He cried indignantly.

“I just did.” She turned to walk further down the river and put distance between herself and the annoying boy.

With her back turned, she didn’t see him glower at her before reaching down to scoop mud from the bank. He began to jog after her, and when she spun to glare he tossed the mud into her face.

Brana’s screech of disgust echoed through the trees as the mud hit her cheek and dropped down onto her dress. Mud throwing was a rare tactic among young girls in a Volva camp, so she wasn’t exactly used to the cold slime oozing down her skin.

“Take that, you hag! Now your dress matches your hair.” The boy said before blowing a rather wet raspberry at her.

“You stupid troll boy!” Brana yelled before grabbing a handful of mud herself and lunging toward him. The two began flinging mud at each other as they ducked around trees. Eventually, the mud war turned to close combat and they attempted to wrestle each other to the ground. While the boy clearly had some small amount of training as well as a slight height advantage, Brana was able to keep up by playing dirty. When he tried to get her in a headlock, she freed herself by pulling roughly on his red-blonde hair. He knocked her legs out from under her and she shoved mud up into his nose. She tried to roll away and he grabbed the back of her dress to pull her closer again. On and on until they both were lying on the ground, gasping for air.

“You fight alright. For a girl,” he said with less malice than she expected.

“You still can’t own a river,” was her reply before she stuck her tongue out. Looking at him closer now, she noted the curious mark in his right eye that made it resemble a snake’s elongated pupil.

His confident words brought her attention away from the mark. “Sure I can. The river runs through Kattegat, and my father is king. So I own the river.” The boy shrugged as if this should have been common knowledge.

Brana shot up at that reveal. “Your father is not the king!” Her eyes took in the clothes under their layer of mud though and she realized that while they were just children’s play clothes the fabric was tightly woven and of better quality than a farming family could afford.

“Of course he is. I’m no liar.” He looked stung by the idea that she’d even accuse him.

“Then… that would make your mother Queen Aslaug! Daughter of Bryhhildr and Sigurd!” Her mouth fell open at the connection. Nanna spoke often of Aslaug, the witch who gave up her wand to marry Ragnar and bear his children. While Brana didn’t understand why any woman would give up their wand and the position of being Volva, she did have respect for Aslaug’s talent for magic and prophecy from the stories Nanna told.

“She’s not that great. My father is better. He is raiding a place called Paris now! Everyone knows he’ll come back with riches.” The boy looked sour when he speaks of his mother, but brightened when explaining King Ragnar and his feats to Brana.

“What do you mean she’s not great? What’s wrong with her?” Brana interrupted the boy’s talk of how he’d join his father in the future. Raiding held no interest to her, but a famous witch she hadn’t met did.

“She’s the worst and I hate her. Siggy died because of her, and she only cares for Ivar.” He spat on the ground and glared out over the river.

Brana considered this and decided to ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”

His face showed his surprise at her question. “None of the adults want to listen to me when I try to tell them. Why do you care?”

“Unn and Nanna tell me that I shouldn’t ignore people when they are upset. You are upset so I will not ignore you.” She pulled her knees under her chin and waited for him to begin. Warily, he told her about Aslaug’s cheating, how he found her lover Harbard sleeping with women other than his mother, Siggy’s dead body in the river, Ivar’s lack of empathy for their niece, and everything else that had bothered him about his mother’s neglectful ways. Brana listened to it all dutifully, nodding when needed and encouraging him to share what he normally kept buried.

“I’m sorry, she sounds like a very bad mother.” She said when he’d finished. She didn’t bring up the fact that she noticed him wipe a few tears from his eyes since he was clearly trying to hide them. She simply stood up and held her hand out to him.

“What are you doing?” He asked while looking between her hand and her face.

“Show me how to skip rocks. You’re good at it,” was all Brana said before dropping her hand and heading to the river. He joined her and pointed out the kind of stone she would want to look for before showing her how to throw it straight across the water.

Later, both children laughed happily as they competed to see who could skip stones farther down river. The sun was falling below the tree line and shadows reached for them from the branches. “What’s your name?” The boy turned to ask for the first time.

“Brana, and yours?” A soft smile for her new friend spread across her face.

“Sigurd,” He smiled wide at her, “like my grandfather. Will you be here tomorrow, Brana? I can bring a boat and we can float it down the river, and I’ll take some cheese from the kitchen, and we can fight again, and–”

“I won’t be here tomorrow Sigurd.” Her smile fell. “My family moves south then.”

“Oh,” his smile faltered too, “you’ll come back though, right? Just come into town and you can find me when you come back! I’ll introduce you to Ubbe and Hvitserk then.”

“I don’t know when we’ll be back next.” Frowning, she considered for a moment. “I’ll come find you when I do, though. We can play again then.”

Nodding at her answer, Sigurd looked around before spying something in the water. “Here!” He placed a wet stone in her palm, a circle in the center of it that she could peer through. “It’s a hag stone. It’ll keep you and your family safe until you come back.”

She gazed down at it, impressed that he noticed such an item, but a ripple in the river caught her eye and she turned her head just enough to watch it. As the ripple spread out the reflection of her and Sigurd in the water shifted. Instead of two muddy children standing by the river, Brana could see two adults. While older and clean, she could still tell it was herself and Sigurd from the mark in the older man’s eye, and the familiar shape of her own face.

At first, the many differences that come from age startle her. Her own body looked foreign with the addition of curves and how her round face looked strong instead of childish. Sigurd’s reflection looked even stranger. It was not the lanky thing standing next to her. It carried strength in its lean muscle and stood taller than her own reflection by a surprising amount. Brana studied the changes with curiosity while the reflections smiled and laughed with each other. She watched her reflection splash at the older Sigurd as he advanced forward to pull her into a tight hug. Her eyes widen when the reflections lean into each other to kiss.

“Brana? You’re looking at the water again.” Sigurd’s voice snapped her out of the trance and she tore her eyes away to look at him. Her gaze caught in his eyes and knowing settled into her bones like dust in an old home. In his eyes, she could see her future as a cup overflowing with his presence. She smelled the crisp sting of winter and the warm smoke of a hearth, though it was summer in the woods then. Goosebumps riddled her skin and she caught the sound of whispers on a nonexistent wind.

“Sigurd you’ll never believe it, I just-”

“Brana, there you are! It’s past time to come home.” A voice called from behind and both children turned to see Unn standing with a soft look on her face.

“Yes, Unn!” Brana called back, still struck by her vision. She turned back to Sigurd who watched Unn warily.

“Your mother?” He asked.

Brana shrugged, “I suppose so. She acts like it at least.” Her fingers tightened around the hag stone. “Sigurd, I have to go now. I’ll come back someday, I promise. Just don’t forget me while I’m gone?” She smiled nervously.

He returned it tenfold and pulled her into a hug before she could react. “Of course I won’t forget you. We’re friends now.” He let her go then and turned to run back toward his own home.

Brana turned to walk back to Unn too, and only once did she look back to watch him. He’d stopped to look back too, and gave her a final wave which she returned. A soft laugh came out of her mouth when he almost tripped walking backward while trying to wave for longer than her.

“Who was that little bird?” Unn asked when Brana came to stand next to her.

“That, Unn, is Sigurd Snake-in-the-eye. Someday I will be his wife.” Brana announced with pride while beaming.

“Oh, will you now?” Unn looked amused, “I thought you were never going to marry and practice magic all your days.”

Brana looked thoughtful as she considered her previous plan, “I will still practice magic, but I will also be Sigurd’s wife. I know it Unn. The river told me.” Her eyes found Unn’s then, and she noticed that she could still feel that weight in her bones when thinking about the future.

Unn stilled at her words before her eyes softened into something Brana didn’t understand, “I see. You will carry this with you always Brana. Even when you wish to set it down.” A sigh escaped the woman’s lips and she straightened before holding her hand out to the young girl. “You’ll need to wash up for the ritual.”

Brana lit up at the woman’s words, “Really?” she exclaimed and clutched Unn’s hand with her own.

“Of course. You can’t exactly show up looking like you landed in a mudslide.” They walked off together towards the camp. “Really, how did the two of you manage to get that filthy in one afternoon?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nineteen by Tegan and Sara if you want to keep up with the playlist.

Ten years. Ten long years since the last time Brana had visited Kattegat. The Volvur camp had been all over Norway, but this was the first time Nanna had brought them back to Ragnar’s lands. Though she’d been busy learning the traditional weaving spells and helping villagers to scry for their future, Brana had kept wondering when they would finally return.

Now they were camped just outside the city, and Brana fought against every instinct to run through the streets looking for the face she’d imagined over the years. Two things kept her from doing just that. The first was that Nanna had ordered the rest of the camp to stay back with Unn until Queen Aslaug had been greeted and welcomed the gathering into the city. The second was the fear that Sigurd had forgotten her. They had been children who played together just once, after all, and while she had the memory of her vision to keep him in her mind, Sigurd certainly didn’t.

“If you keep chewing on your lip you won’t have one with which to greet your love,” said a voice from behind Brana. She looked back to find Ylsa leaning against a tree with a lazy smile. Over the years the two girls had bonded and Brana considered her the closest of her sister witches. 

“I can’t help it. I feel like the tide, Ylsa. I want to go and find him, but the fear that he won’t remember me keeps pulling me back. Then I want to run towards him again,” Brana whispered, and turned to stare back down the road toward Kattegat. If Unn asked, she’d claim to be watching for a messenger from Nanna, though she knew the older woman wouldn’t be fooled.

“I know. You’re pulled towards him like a magnet. You have been ever since you came back from the river covered in mud. Always looking toward your future even in your sleep.” Ylsa teased. She moved up to her friend and wrapped her arms around Brana’s waist. “You know… you could always just go. Nanna will be taking the easy road into town, and she’s slow now. You’d beat her if you tried.”

Brana scoffed, “Ah yes, I’ll just go into the city on my own and disobey Nanna and Unn. That’ll certainly go over well. They won’t forbid me from attending the festival tonight, or the next ten festivals we hold.” Still, she felt her feet itching to move despite the obvious consequences.

Ylsa rested her chin on Brana’s shoulder and pretended to contemplate Brana’s words. “I see your point. However, if I tell them the Gods made you do it they can’t be mad. I will say that Freyja herself was pushing you down this path. It’s not exactly a lie, so they can’t punish me either.” She planted a big kiss on Brana’s cheek then and pulled back.

“You’d do that for me?” Brana asked, without turning to look for the answer she’d see on Ylsa’s honest face.

“Brana, I would do much worse for you if you asked. We knew this day would come. Now that it has, you not only want to go, but you have to.” 

“You’re talking like you won’t see me again tonight at the feast. Like we won’t be sitting side by side as usual.”

“It won’t be the same this time. You know it.”

Brana looked back at Ylsa and returned the bittersweet smile on the woman’s face. “I know. Thank you.” She pulled Ylsa into a kiss. Short, but enough to convey just how much Brana would miss this part of her life, this part of Ylsa. Then she let herself give in to the pull in her bones and ran through the woods toward an uncertain future.

 

Kattegat was bustling when she arrived. Traders, thralls, and children moved about in a hurry. Most didn’t even glance at the out-of-breath woman walking briskly through the streets. Brana tried to take it all in while looking around for any face that looked familiar. It dawned on her now that other than the snake in his eye and a blurry memory of a reflection, she had no idea what he would look like. Assuming this was even close to when her vision took place. 

She stopped by a smithy to catch her breath and gain her bearings. She figured her best bet to finding Sigurd would be to ask for help. Most people in the city would have to know their prince, though it might take her a few tries to find someone who would know his current whereabouts. “Excuse me,” Brana said while approaching the next person to walk past the corner. The woman shrugged her off though and continued down the road. The next few people she approached did the same, all of them too busy to stop and find out what she would ask.

“You know, you’ll never grab someone’s attention by being that polite,” said a deep voice behind her. Turning, she took in a tall bear of a man, maybe in his late thirties. He sat sharpening an ax on a grindstone and looked at her with pity.

“What do you suggest I do, then? Punch someone?” Brana asked. He looked the type to be good at punching to her. Lots of muscle and a few visible scars from battles past. 

He stopped grinding his ax then and looked her up and down before scoffing, “No, they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between your hit and a light breeze.” The scowl she gave him only made him smile before he continued. “You could be more aggressive with your words, though. Talk louder. Demand they pay attention to you. Pretend to be more important than you are.”

“Oh,” Brana chewed at her lip before she straightened her back and pretended she was Unn. However, looking down her nose at the man proved to be a bit of a challenge when he was just as tall as her sitting. “In that case, I shall take your advice. I am looking for the prince of Kattegat. Take me to him, and he’ll show you much gratitude for reuniting us.” She hardened her eyes the same way Unn did when warning one of the girls against refusing a task. 

The man’s eyes went wide at her change in tone, though it was clear he didn’t find her intimidating in the slightest. He looked over at the blacksmith working the forge as if to ask if he was seeing this too. 

“You told her to, Ironside,” was all the blacksmith said before returning to his work.

Ironside nodded, “That I did.” With a sigh, he returned his attention to Brana and gave a shrug. “Which prince of Kattegat would you be looking for then?” 

Brana blinked and remembered then that Sigurd had mentioned brothers before. Her cheeks went a little pink as she realized this man probably thought her a fool or liar. “Prince Sigurd is who I’m hoping to find. Will you take me to him?”

“Sigurd? Wouldn’t have expected him to be honest.” He stood and spun the ax before sheathing it in his belt. “Normally when a young woman claims a prince wants to see her again she’s referring to Hvitserk. Come on then.”

Her brow furrowed a bit at the comment about Hvitserk, but she held her tongue and followed him through the crowded streets. Moving about was easier when following him as people moved out of his way naturally, though she found herself walking briskly to keep up with his stride.

“So how did you meet the prince then?” He asked over his shoulder, every now and then lifting his hand to give a wave to a merchant here or a Viking there.

“We met by the river and spent the afternoon playing together.” She noticed the curious looks some people started giving her now that she was being led by Ironside.

His laugh was so slight she almost didn’t notice it before he spoke again, “You played together. When was that?” He stopped and dropped his gaze to her torso looking for something. “Couldn’t have been more than three months ago, right?” 

She put her hands on her hips and raised an eyebrow at him. “It was ten years ago. I don’t see how that matters to you though.” 

Both his eyebrows raised then. “Ten years? Either you’re lying or… fuck, Sigurd.” He ran a hand down his face, much like Unn did when she had to listen to Ylsa explain where she’d been late at night. He turned to head back up the road then, but this time instead of having her follow he placed an arm around her shoulder and led her by his side.

“Why would I lie about that?” Brana was confused at this point and wondered if they were talking about the same prince now. Her escort simply shook his head though and walked with her in silence.

After a while, they approached a longhouse in the back of town, and with a nod to some of the thralls working out front Ironside led her through the front door, throwing it open like he owned the place. The inside was grand, with a large chandelier made of antlers hanging from the center of the room and many tables situated around. It was also mostly empty aside from four young men seated at a table by the fireplace. 

The first to notice them was too old to be Sigurd. Dirty blonde hair braided back and kind eyes that took her in. Handsome enough that even Ylsa would acknowledge him. Beside him, laughing at some joke, sat a younger man with dark brown hair and a cruel looking dagger. His bright blue eyes went to Ironside first but when they did turn to her the calm calculation there was unexpected. Another blonde turned in his chair to look at them. Hair in multiple braids and mouth busy taking a bite out of a loaf of bread. His eyes seemed kind enough, but the longer he looked at her the more she caught onto something shadowed behind them. He smiled at her when he noticed how she fidgeted under his gaze, and the worrisome look in his eyes was gone so suddenly she wondered if she imagined it. 

None of these men had the serpent in their gaze, at least not the one she was looking for. There was one more sitting at the table with his back to her, but he didn’t turn around. His blonde hair was long and loose other than a few braids to hold it back. He was busy telling his brothers about something that happened in the woods recently when the man with kind eyes waved a hand to quiet him.

“Bjorn! We were wondering where you’d gone off to. Who’s your friend? Someone Torvi would approve of or no?” He smirked at his brothers with that last line and waited for a response.

“She isn’t with me, Ubbe, so Torvi would have no need to approve or not,” Bjorn stated with a shrug. The blonde continuing to smile at her stood and slowly moved to circle her and Bjorn in a way that made Brana think of how wolves circle their prey. She shifted closer to Bjorn hoping his proximity would be a comfort.

“Then is she a gift for us brother? Or another farm girl looking for Hvitserk?” The younger one asked while spinning his dagger in his hand with proficiency. Hvitserk, Brana assumed, stood beside her now letting his eyes travel up and down her body. He smiled at her still and Brana wanted to smack it off his face, but recognized that would be a poor introduction. 

Trying to ignore Hvitserk’s leer, Brana chose to look Bjorn in the eyes and mouthed “Brother?” at him. His answering shrug did nothing to ease the feeling of embarrassment she felt realizing how she’d demanded the eldest prince to lead her to Sigurd, or the tingling sense of betrayal now that she realized he’d let her do so the entire time and was probably laughing about it. 

“Neither Ivar. She’s here for Sigurd actually. Says they played by the river together.” Bjorn stared at the back of the curling blonde hair that hadn’t bothered to look back at them yet.

He did now though, and Brana found herself holding her breath as she waited to confirm if she’d see that same mark in his eye. Blue eyes met hers and she saw the snake-like pupil he’d been named for. Time slowed and she could feel that weight in her joints stir as if it’d were waking up after a long rest. Her eyes took in all the details she’d forgotten with time. Had his hair gotten blonder over the years? When had he filled out? If he stood, would he tower over her like his brothers? She smiled at Sigurd then and opened her mouth to speak, but he beat her to it. 

“I don’t recall her at all Bjorn. You sure she isn’t confused?” He turned back to the table then and lifted a cup to drink from. 

Brana’s smile faltered as she struggled to figure out what to do next.. 

“Sorry, Sigurd plays with a lot of girls by the river. If you’re looking for a new playmate though I know a nice spot in the forest.” Hvitserk spoke in what he must have thought would be reassuring, but Brana only gaped at him as she realized what all their comments had been about.

Her cheeks went red with anger then, and before she could think about the consequences she found herself retorting hotly, “Not that kind of playing you, you troll. It was ten years ago! I was nine!” She glared holes in the back of Sigurd’s head and took a deep breath. “You taught me to skip rocks and said if I was ever back in Kattegat to come find you. You promised not to forget.” That last part she said under her breath so soft that not even Hvitserk or Bjorn seemed to hear it. 

Feeling like she’d played the fool long enough for one day, Brana turned to walk back to camp, hoping Ylsa wouldn’t want to know how the reunion had gone but knowing she would.

“Brana?” The voice was so quiet and unsure she almost didn’t hear it. Hope rose in her chest as she glanced back to see that Sigurd had pushed his chair back and was now looking at her as if worried he’d gotten her name wrong.

“Yes, that’s me Sigurd.” She stared back at him and wondered what he’d do next with his brothers watching. She needn’t have minded them, though, because Sigurd didn’t.

He was out of his chair in flash and before Brana could react her feet were off the ground as Sigurd spun her around with joy. He set her down after a twirl or two, laughing, but didn’t remove his arms from where they were wrapped around her back. Pressed tight as she was against his chest she could just barely feel how fast his heart was beating. After a few seconds that felt like another decade to Brana, he finally released her from the hug and held her at arms length with a grin that reminded her of the boy he used to be. 

“You look smaller than I remember, and there’s less mud,” he teased, and brought a hand up to her cheek to turn her face one way and the other.

“I’m taller than I was. If I look smaller it’s only because you became a giant while I was away.” Her hand came up to hold his gently. “Also if I recall correctly the mud was your doing.” 

“Probably. I’m afraid I don’t remember it too well. After a year or two, I gave up on seeing you again.” 

The two reunited friends had forgotten the audience in the room until Ubbe decided to remind them. “I remember that actually. Sigurd came back covered in mud one day and blamed it on his new friend. Claimed she could beat Hvitserk and I in a fight.” 

“We all thought he was lying. What girl would want to play in the mud with Sigurd after all?” Ivar spoke this time not wanting to miss a chance to needle his brother.

“Well now you see that I was not lying, Ivar,” Sigurd said, giving the younger brother a pointed look. Brana looked at the two of them, wondering if they were about to start arguing.

“Enough. Now that we’ve cleared up the confusion we should invite your friend to sit with us, Sigurd. Unless you and Ivar wish to go outside and fight while Hvitserk and Ubbe entertain her.” Bjorn barked, impatient with his siblings' behavior. He moved forward and pulled a chair out for her before taking one of his own. She was about to take the seat when approaching voices caught the attention of her and the men.

“I would love to have your retinue at the feast Nanna. Perhaps some of your girls would even like to help me with the sacrifice.” A beautiful woman was leading Nanna into the main hall on her arm. She looked up at the brothers and Brana gathered around the table and smiled. “Boys, this is Volva Nanna. She and her camp will be attending the feast tonight.“ Her eyes took in Brana then who was attempting to hide from Nanna by moving behind Sigurd. “Now who is this?”

“That would be my Brana, Queen Aslaug,” Nanna stated with a frown for Brana, “Yes, I can see you girl. I’m may be old but I’m not blind, and don’t think that boy can save you from Unn when she finds out you ran off.” Despite the stern look on her face, Brana could hear the amusement in Nanna’s words and it gave her the courage to step out from behind Sigurd and bow to the Queen.

“She didn’t bow to us,” Ivar whispered behind you before a smacking sound could be heard with a soft shhh from Ubbe or Bjorn, Brana wasn’t sure which. She straightened and looked at the queen, wondering if she’d get in trouble on two fronts tonight.

“She’s the one you were telling me about then? Not a very obedient one, is she.” Aslaug pursed her lips as if unsure what to do with the small thing she’d found with her sons.

“Normally, Brana is wonderful with directions and tasks. However, she’s been eager to come to Kattegat ever since we decided to travel this way. Ylsa is likely involved as well, isn’t she little bird?” Nanna cackled at the blush that rose to Brana’s cheeks as she listened to the old lady reveal how much she suspected.

“Queen Aslaug, Nanna, I apologize for coming into Kattegat without permission. I will of course return to camp if you wish.” Brana said and cast her eyes on the floor. 

“You may stay. The rest of your camp should be on their way soon after all. I have more to discuss with Nanna now, so you will either wait here in the hall or by the main road for the gathering.” Aslaug nodded at you and then looked at Bjorn and her sons. “You should all be preparing for tonight, but if you wish to entertain our guest here in the hall I will not be opposed.” With that, she turned on her heel and headed toward a hall in the back.

Nanna came up to Brana then and pat the girl on the cheek, “I’m sure Ylsa and I can keep Unn from punishing you too harshly tonight. Though next time I’d not hide from a queen in her own home.”

“Nanna, you don’t seem surprised to find me here,” Brana said, feeling a bit confused by Nanna’s lack of lecture.

“Now little bird, did you think we believed we could keep you out of Kattegat for more than a few hours? If we had really wished to keep you in camp Unn would’ve tied you and Ylsa to a post and set the younglings to watch you.” The old witch winked then and bowed her head to the princes. “Wonderful to meet you. I look forward to the feast tonight.” 

Brana watched as Nanna wandered off after the queen and finally relaxed as they left the room. Smiling again, she turned back to the boys but froze at the look on Sigurd’s face. Where before he’d looked at her warmly and acted excited to hear what she’d been up to the last decade, he now had a stony look in his eyes and a scowl on his face.

“Sigurd, what’s wrong?” Brana wrapped her arms around herself as if the room had gone cold. His brothers looked between the two of them with different expressions of interest, confusion, or patience.

“You didn’t tell me you were with the Volvur.” Sigurd spat the name like it tasted sour in his mouth.

“I didn’t think it mattered.” Her voice was quiet as she watched him clench and unclench his fists by his sides.

“Of course it matters. This whole time I was wondering about your family and what they were like, and now I find you don’t have one. That you come from a colony of witches.” Accusation in his tone had her looking back up at his eyes, where she saw that his snake pupil had taken on a sinister look.

“They are a family, Sigurd. Nanna and Unn raised me. They’re all my sisters, aunts, and friends. They’re my family.” She couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. She didn’t understand what he could hate so much about Volvur camps.

“So you’re a witch too, then?” His voice was quiet now, dangerous. She began to worry about how close he was standing. She realized she didn’t know anything about him anymore. Was he the type to react with violence? Should she be moving back from him?

Brana raised her chin in challenge though she was aware she couldn’t stand a chance against him. “I am. I’m Volva, Sigurd, and I don’t see why it should matter.” She willed her limbs to be still and rigid like stone. She wouldn’t let his anger beat her down.

“It matters because--” He shouted and stopped then to close his eyes and take deep breaths. Brana couldn’t help but flinch away but stayed standing in front of him to hear why he cared so much. Sigurd opened his eyes again and glared at her. “You’re a liar, all Volva are. I have no interest in being friends with a lying witch,” he hissed. The animosity in his voice ran down her back like ice.

“There’s no reason for me to wait around here, then. I’ll wait for my family out in town.” She was trying to hold her voice together. Blinking furiously to keep herself from crying. She looked to his brothers, who were staring openly at the two of them, and opened her mouth to say goodbye, but found she couldn’t trust herself to say anything just then. Instead, she opted for a nod to Bjorn and walked as fast as she dared to the main door, slipping out into the busy streets of Kattegat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come Away With Me // Norah Jones
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's read the story so far! I'm so excited to share Brana's tale with you all.

“Enough pouting. You’ve done nothing but sit in this corner and pick at your meal,” Ylsa whined as she dropped onto the bench beside Brana. The feast was in full swing after Queen Aslaug’s sacrifice to the Gods. Music and laughter filled the hall and bodies danced together around the fire, but none of the surrounding cheer made Brana feel less sour.

She took a long drink of mead, the only thing she had the stomach for tonight, and grimaced at her drunk friend. “I can’t help it. I’ve spent the last ten years thinking of him, dreaming of him. Now, I learn he hates witches.” The Gods were cruel sometimes, but this went beyond what she’d expected. “Sure, I knew he wouldn’t be in love with me. I was prepared for that, but hatred? Absolute disgust for something I can’t help? It’s not fair Ylsa.” Brana rubbed her eyes to keep herself from crying.

“Well he’s an idiot. You could sleep with one of his brothers for revenge. The blonde one looks interested,” Ylsa said and nodded toward Hvitserk, who stared at the two women. He’d looked at them most of the night, though Brana couldn’t tell if he watched her or Ylsa. Whoever Hvitserk wanted he’d end up disappointed if he hoped to warm his bed with either woman.

“I don’t want to sleep with Hvitserk, or anyone else, tonight. I want to drink my mead and be left alone.” Brana crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall behind her.

“Alright then don’t sleep with anyone. You aren’t allowed to be hidden in the corner anymore though. It will make the oaf think he’s won, and I don’t let oafs that hurt you win anything.” Ylsa took the mead cup out of Brana’s hand and downed it before the smaller woman could snatch it back. “Dance with me. Forget about your doomed love, at least for tonight.”

Brana eyed her warily, “Do you think that’s a good idea? No, not because of Sigurd.” She rolled her eyes at the dirty look Ylsa shot her for daring to question her wisdom and hurried to explain, “This morning you said that things would change between us. Will dancing with me hurt you?”

Ylsa’s gaze softened and she leaned forward to press her forehead to Brana’s. Her voice was low and intimate, as if they were the only two in the hall, when she spoke. “It’ll be fine Brana. I’ve always known you weren’t for me, though I often wished…” She trailed off with a sigh, “I want to dance with you because it makes me happy to see you enjoy yourself, and because I want to rub it in that idiot’s face.”

Brana smiled for the first time that night and brought her hand up to caress the back of Ylsa’s neck. “In another life you would have all my dances. We’ll just have to make do with what the Gods grant us in this one.”

“You’ll dance with me then?” Ylsa’s smile kept the moment from being bittersweet, much to Brana’s relief.

“I was under the impression that I didn’t have a choice.”

“You’re wiser than Unn gives you credit for,” Ylsa said and lead Brana towards the dancing.

The fire cast a warm glow to the bodies twirling and stomping around it. Flutes, drums, and harp set a jaunty tune for the dancers. Ylsa pulled Brana close and led her through the quick steps with familiar ease. There were turns, lifts, and goofy faces made at each other. Before long Brana’s mood rose to match the music. Ylsa had been right, as usual.

The music changed tempo and with it the partners. Ylsa turned Brana into the arms of another, a bearded man who still had enough wits to be decent at leading, and the dancing picked up again. Brana didn’t speak with her partner, there wasn’t a need to. They just enjoyed the moment together and laughed when stumbles happened.

A few more partner changes, sometimes Brana and Ylsa danced together and sometimes Brana would catch sight of her spinning with a pretty shieldmaiden or farmer’s daughter, before she needed to break away for water. She’d gotten a few sips of water down and struck up a conversation with the blacksmith when a hand gripped her elbow.

“My mother is asking after you little bird,” Hvitserk said into her ear. He didn’t need to lean in so near for her to hear him, but he pressed close anyway. His proximity made her feel claustrophobic, and the nickname sounded wrong in his voice.

She took a step away and looked towards Queen Aslaug who indeed watched her from across the room. With a nod to Hvitserk she said, “Thank you, my prince. I’ll go and attend her now.” Extracting herself from his grip, Brana moved through the tables toward the waiting Queen.

“Queen Aslaug, you wished to speak with me?” Brana gave a respectful bow and stood with her hands clasped before her. Nanna sat at the table with the Queen, and Unn stood behind the witch’s chair. Both women appeared somber when Brana looked to them for answers. She tensed when she noticed how Unn’s knuckles were white where she gripped the chair.

The Queen finished a drink from her golden cup before answering, “Volva Nanna has approached me about taking a student into my hall. Specifically, she has asked I take you in since you find Kattegat so interesting and have shown a talent for future seeing.” She tapped her elegant fingers on the wooden table along with the music. “Despite your actions today I’ve decided there is merit to the idea. As a favor to Nanna I will take you into my home and teach you what I know.”

Brana’s thoughts raced at the prospect. Learning from such a renowned witch was a wonderful opportunity, and she’d be in Kattegat close to Sigurd. A chance like this was more than she’d hoped for. However, her excitement fell as she remembered Sigurd’s dismissal of her that afternoon. Brana had thought to leave Kattegat and return in another few years, hoping he’d be more accepting with time. Now she didn’t even have that option, and she wondered if this was how it felt to be lost at sea.

Suddenly Unn’s white knuckles made sense to her. Unn who had been the first to spot her running down the road away from the city today. Unn who had caught Brana in her arms and held tight as the young woman sobbed and soaked her dress. Unn who soothed and calmed her until she could explain what was wrong. Unn who she could now see was holding her tongue and trying to let Brana protect herself.

Nanna, Unn, and Ylsa never let fear of the future stop them from moving forward. Brana decided she wouldn’t either. “You honor me with your generosity, my Queen. I promise to work hard and make you and Volva Nanna proud.” Brana said and bowed deeply to Aslaug. She had to ask for one thing though and hoped the Queen would react kindly. “I worry that housing me will be too big a burden. I can provide for myself if there’s somewhere at the edge of town for me.”

“Providing for my student would be no burden. Unless there is another reason you’d refuse to stay in my home?” Aslaug’s voice was sweet as honey and her smile inviting, but her eyes bore into Brana’s as she straightened. Insults would not be a good start to their relationship, especially after Aslaug was overlooking Brana’s slight that afternoon.

“Just that I’m used to a life of travel and camping. I’m excited to learn what it’s like to put down roots and live without my sisters, but the transition may be easier if I settle closer to the forest and can care for my own place. Staying in your home is, of course, an honor I hadn’t dreamed of receiving.”

“You make a fair point while continuing to honor me as Queen. Nanna, you should be proud of your student and your teaching.” Aslaug smiled though Brana noticed it didn’t reach her eyes. “I will see what can be done, Brana. Enjoy the rest of the night with your sisters. Tomorrow they will move on and we shall begin your lessons.” She turned to speak with Nanna then and Brana relaxed knowing that she hadn’t insulted her new teacher.

Turning to find Ylsa and share the news, Brana instead caught Sigurd’s eye and froze. She’d worked hard to keep from looking at him all evening, though Ylsa had described to her how he didn’t seem to be enjoying the feast with all the witches in attendance.

Sigurd sat with Ubbe, a pretty blonde on his lap, surrounded by men. His eyes never left her, and his gaze chilled her quicker than any winter rain. Brana felt her lungs constrict, though she wasn’t sure if the pressure was from panic, the heavy weight of the river’s knowledge, or if Sigurd somehow commanded an invisible snake to squeeze the air from her.

She wanted to flee from the hall again. She wanted to walk towards him and say something, anything, to make his gaze soften. Instead she stood there, frozen and self-conscious until a warm arm fell across her shoulders and broke the spell. Hvitserk squeezed her shoulder once with a smile, and Brana found herself too grateful for the distraction to worry about his intentions.

“You know he’s going to be mad when he learns you’re staying.” Hvitserk looked pleased with the thought. “Ivar will think it fantastic that you get under his skin so much. It might turn into a fight.”

“I don’t want a fight, or to upset your brother.” Brana realized the idea of chaos excited him and wondered if his interest in her was only because it might upset others.

“Is that why you asked to live elsewhere in Kattegat? You’ll banish yourself to the edge of the city to make him feel better when he wouldn’t do the same for you.”

“I asked to live elsewhere because it will make me happier.”

“Of course you did,” His hand reached up and pinched her cheek, “You’re cute when you try to lie. Now are we going to dance, or will you be running off to your friend?” He jerked his head to the left and Brana leaned forward to see Ylsa watching them with curiosity.

“I’ll be joining Ylsa, my prince. She doesn’t know it’s our last night together, and I should tell her.”

“Hvitserk is fine. We’ll soon be getting to know each other after all.” That leer she disliked was back, but he didn’t give her a chance to respond. He lifted his arm from her shoulders and moved off to a group of Vikings and shield maidens who greeted him with shouts of glee.

Unsure what to think of the prince Brana pushed the conversation from her mind and walked toward Ylsa, making sure not to glance in Sigurd’s direction.

“What was that about? Decided to piss off Sigurd after all?” Ylsa greeted her with an easy smile.

“In a way,” Brana muttered and paused, “Ylsa something happened.”

“Something with the Queen,” Ylsa looked solemn and took Brana’s hand in her own, “Come away with me then. Let’s take a walk in the moonlight.”

They left the hall in silence, and Brana waited until they were well down the road before telling Ylsa about Nanna and Aslaug’s decision. She didn’t need to mention her concerns or fears. Ylsa knew them without asking, and Brana didn’t want to make the moment about Sigurd. Not when she might never see Ylsa again.

“Part of me hoped tonight wasn’t time for goodbyes,” Ylsa said as she looked down the road. They’d stopped at the edge of the city and stood in silence together to think about their diverging paths.

“It’s not. Not until tomorrow.” Brana squeezed Ylsa’s hand.

She watched Ylsa, beautiful brave Ylsa, take a shuddering breath before turning to smile at her, “You’re right. In that case, You’re banned from crying Brana. I know you want to, but I forbid it until tomorrow.” She said as if Brana couldn’t see the fresh streaks on her cheeks.

“I promise I won’t cry. If I do may Unn smite me with the fury of Thor.”

Ylsa laughed at the childhood promise. “Good, then I know you mean it. Now, let’s go back to the feast. You should be dancing with our sisters until dawn.”

They headed back to the light and noise of the longhouse, and as they grew closer their footsteps grew lighter. Waiting to greet them in front of the door they found Unn and most of the other witches. Brana smiled at her family and let them all embrace her tight before Ylsa demanded they move back into the warmth of the hall. Together the women danced, drank, laughed, and sang. Until at last the feast came to an end and they all stumbled back to camp.

Brana woke in Ylsa’s furs like so many mornings before, with limbs tangled up and their bodies pressed together. Normally Ylsa snored away until Brana woke her for fear of Unn’s sharp tongue. However, today she stirred to a hand stroking her hair. When Brana opened her eyes she found Ylsa watching her with an expression that almost broke her heart on the spot.

“Oh Ylsa I’m so—” She started before Ylsa placed a finger to her lips.

“Don’t. We didn’t do anything last night, so don’t feel guilty.”

“Alright,” Brana whispered and pressed her forehead to Ylsa’s before rising, “We’d better help everyone pack up.”

Ylsa only nodded and left the furs with her. They pulled their dresses on over their shifts and set about breaking down the camp with the other witches rising with the sun.

Despite the camp breaking to eat breakfast together they’d finished packing up by mid-morning, and were ready to set off to the next town. All except Brana who had her bag set aside from the others and stood apart. The time to say goodbye to her family had finally come and she was doing her best not to cry.

Nanna was the first to approach. She put her hands on Brana’s cheeks and kissed her forehead the way she had when Brana was a girl. “Don’t be afraid of your path little bird. It is a rough one, but you’ll find your way. Be patient with the boy, but don’t let him walk all over you.”

“Of course Nanna, thank you.”

“I’m not done yet!” Nanna pinched her ear but smiled still. Then her face grew serious and she continued, “If he hurts you remember that you’re Volva. You can curse him.” She stepped back and let her words sink in.

Unn took Nanna’s place, her lips pressed thin and a no-nonsense look in her eyes, “Do not curse the prince. Am I understood?” Behind her back both Nanna and Ylsa were shaking their heads and mouthing ‘curse him’, “If he hurts you, come to me. I’ll curse him for you.” Her face crumpled, and Brana watched as the usual stony Unn cried for her. “Don’t stay up too late, and remember to brew up cold remedies before winter hits.”

“Yes, Unn. I, “ Brana hiccuped and noticed that her own face was wet, “Thank you, for everything.”

Unn pulled her into a tight embrace and they held each other crying until they remembered that there was still one last goodbye to be made.

When Ylsa stepped forward she didn’t move to touch Brana. She held her hands clasped beneath her breasts and stood at a distance that felt unnatural after all their years together. Brana wanted to cross that space and hold her, but knew Ylsa needed this separation if they were ever going to say goodbye. She needed it too.

“This is it then.” Ylsa’s voice strained to sound normal.

“Yes, I think it is.” Brana didn’t know what to say. What could she say that Ylsa didn’t already know?

“You’re not allowed to hide away and be sad. You have to be happy.”

“I promise. Travel well, and don’t make Unn fuss too much.”

Did Ylsa sob or laugh at that? Brana couldn’t tell. “I’ll try.”

They stared at each other for a moment longer. The unsaid words hanging between them. Neither wanted to say them today as a farewell, so they left them there to fill in the space they wouldn’t cross. Maybe they’d have stood and looked at each other forever, but they didn’t get a chance to find out. Unn came and wrapped a comforting arm around Ylsa to turn her toward the rest of the Volvur, and Brana gave her family a final wave as she watched them move on without her.

She stood watching until the last witch was too far for her to see through her tears. The sun had climbed into the sky by then, and Brana knew Aslaug waited at the longhouse. She shouldered her bag and turned back toward Kattegat. Even though the tide under her skin pulled her toward the city, there was a part of her that wished she could’ve stayed with her family on familiar shores, but she was in uncharted waters now with only a vision to guide her.

Brana approached the longhouse and found Queen Aslaug waiting outside the doors for her. No sons, guards, or villagers waited with her. Even without an audience the Queen still looked commanding and resplendent. Taller than Brana and holding more poise and grace in her pinky than the young witch had in her whole body. Still, Brana couldn’t help but notice how the woman seemed cold, almost empty, for all her beauty.

“You’ve said your farewells?” Aslaug asked with polite interest.

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Very well. My son, Hvitserk, has found a home for you at the edge of town as you wished. When we finish our lesson today he’ll show you there. Now, come.” Aslaug turned and led the way into the longhouse.

Brana followed her until they reached a workroom near the kitchen. The room smelled like fresh soil and the salve Unn prescribed for coughs. One window let a patch of sunlight fall over two well-loved looms. Tables and shelves along the walls held a collection of herbs, bowls, and tools Brana recognized from her lessons with Unn. A layer of dust covered everything in sight and the air was stiff.

“This is where our lessons will take place. I expect you to know the basics of weaving, though I understand you’ve no practice with looms. Volva Nanna also said you know some medicine and a few useful spells to help farms. We will continue your education with those. You’ll also learn to conduct rituals as needed.” Aslaug spoke while Brana moved around the room to inspect further.

“What of prophecy? Will you teach me more of scrying and dreaming?”

“No. You are versed well enough in prophecy.”

Brana looked at Aslaug in confusion. The Queen was the daughter of one of the greatest seers and had a well-known talent for prophecy herself. Brana knew there was more she could learn while she was here, so why wouldn’t she be taught? “There is much I don’t know though my Queen.”

“True, but the seer has enough answers for the people of Kattegat. You’ve no need to learn more.” Aslaug pursed her lips and Brana could tell she didn’t care to be questioned, but this was about her education and she would have her answers.

“Am I to learn any of the higher magics and incantations then? Words to call the rain or ask Thor for lightning? Songs to dull the a swinging blade?”

“You may learn to call rain if the farmers have need. There will be no lightning or battle songs though.”

“So all you’ll teach me is homesteading and farm magic? I already know those spells.”

“Then you’ll do the magic on your own, in town, and show your mastery.”

Brana stared at Aslaug and pieced it all together. The dust covering the room, the Queen allowing her to live on the edge of town, and her cold reception at the door. “You don’t intend to teach me much of anything, do you? You don’t even practice yourself!” Indignation rose in her and she could tell her face was going red by the heat in her cheeks.

“Not beyond what is required for this city I don’t. I have no more need for prophecy or high magics, and you won’t either.” Aslaug’s voice was just as dangerous-sounding as her son’s and Brana bit her tongue before she said something she’d regret.

“Why then?”

Aslaug stepped forward and looked at Brana. Her elegant fingers reached up and brushed a stray hair from the girl’s forehead, tucking it behind her ear. “You are new to the city and have never lived in one place for long. With Volva Nanna you lived only in the company of your sisters, never forming bonds with men. Kattegat will be different. You’re young, pretty, and your title carries a degree of respect. Do you think men will be blind to that? Do you think you’ll be immune to their charms?”

She moved away and brushed the dust off a chair before sitting down. The Queen made the rustic wooden chair look like a gilded throne. “Eventually, Brana, you will wish to marry one of these men. It will be easier if you know magic useful for keeping a home or a farm. Perhaps some midwife medicine or healing songs to bring in money. Anything more and men will think twice about marrying you.” Aslaug looked at Brana with an intensity that made her sweat. “Men don’t like to listen to women with power, especially power they can’t beat with ax or sword. Even kings fear such wives.” There was an edge to her voice, some old bitterness Brana couldn’t place.

Brana couldn’t deny that the Queen’s words made sense, but it felt wrong to her. To have to give up her power for someone who should love her seemed like an unfair deal. “If I want to learn anyway? Will you forbid me from learning what I can?” Her lips felt dry and she licked them as she waited for Aslaug’s answer.

A scoff was what she received, the Queen looked so very like Ivar when she did that, “ You are thinking like a child. You can either travel like Volva Nanna and work higher magics for kings and queens, gaining renown and power, or you can have a home with a loving husband that listens to you and children.who appreciate you. It is impossible to have both.”

Recalling that distant conversation with Sigurd by the river Brana couldn’t stop wondering how much of Aslaug’s belief was justified, and how much was the Queen trying to blame her bad choices on some twist of fate. She found no answer for that in Aslaug’s gaze though, just unwavering determination. Well Brana could be determined too.

She pressed her shoulders back and recalled Bjorn’s lesson on seeming more important than you were. “Don’t tell me I’ll have to choose. Just because you did doesn’t mean I will. My path is my own, as yours belonged to you,” Her voice didn’t waver and she didn’t shake. Ylsa would be proud. “Do I have your permission to learn what I can outside of our lessons, Queen Aslaug?”

Aslaug gave her a long, cold stare but Brana didn’t look away or cower. Finally, the Queen conceded, “You have my permission to learn what you can on your own. We’re done for the day though. Find Hvitserk and settle into your new home. I don’t want to see you until dinner.”

Brana was quick to leave the workroom. Perhaps she’d been a little too brave for her first day, but she’d received permission to study on her own and hadn’t been kicked out of the city. She would take that as a victory. Now all that was left was to find Hvitserk and ask why he of all the brothers had found her a home.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one ended up being longer than I expected, but I don't think y'all will mind.
> 
> Sea of Love // Cat Power

Kattegat took some getting used to. During Brana’s first month there, her days followed a pattern that left little time for herself. She’d wake with the sun, eat breakfast before her lessons with Aslaug, and return home to fall back into bed. Once in a while, Aslaug refused to teach her, and instead left Brana to her own devices for the day. Who this benefited most was unclear, but Brana didn’t think it mattered. Perhaps she could’ve spent those days looking for another teacher or trying to experiment with what Aslaug wouldn’t teach, but most of the time she just chose to relax and enjoy herself.

It was on one of these days that she woke to a voice shouting her name outside the door. She knew it was Hvitserk. He’d taken to stopping by when he had nothing better to do, or at least that was what he claimed. Brana suspected he was often shirking some duty or training when he came by, but she welcomed the company anyway. After all, he was the only person who ever visited the small shack she called home.

“I know you’re in there, Brana. Don’t make me kick this door in.” Hvitserk shouted. Brana threw her furs off of herself and did her best to dress before he realized how much fun it would be to break down her door. When she finally threw the door open, Brana found him leaning against the frame with his usual smug smirk. 

“Why are you threatening to break into my home, Hvitserk?” She didn’t mean to snap, but bad dreams had kept her up most of the night. Hvitserk waking her from the only rest she’d gotten was bad luck on his end.

“Good morning to you, too.” Her glare only made him chuckle. “You missed breakfast today. I brought some to share.” 

Brana noticed the basket resting at his feet then and leaned over to pick it up for him. “I always skip breakfast, but thank you,” she lied, and stepped back from the door and gestured into the room. “Please, come inside.”

Hvitserk’s tongue ran across his lips and his smirk grew wider. “So forward today, I like it.” 

Her polite smile fell and she moved to slam the door in his face. Hvitserk reacted quicker, though, and caught the door with one hand. Pushing it aside with little effort, he strode inside.

“Also, you never skip breakfast. You eat in the kitchens and pretend to show up later.” He looked around the room for a place to sit. The shack held a bed and a small fireplace, and Brana’s few belongings were kept in her pack. A small table and one or two chairs might fit in the corner, if she owned any.

“How’d you—”

“Margrethe. She sees you come in,” Hvitserk sat on the bed and leaned back against the headboard.

Brana joined him, though she made sure to sit out of reach, and opened up the basket. Inside was a selection of rolls, fruit, and smoked meat. She also noticed a small jar nestled in the corner and smiled. “Did she also tell you I liked honey?”

He shrugged but smiled back. “The thrall that does the cooking did. You’ve made a good impression.”

“Being polite tends to do that.” 

Brana took out a roll and tore it in half before she opened the jar to pour honey over the center. She regarded him for a second before she said, “This was surprisingly thoughtful of you Hvitserk. What did you do?”

Hvitserk’s mouth opened wide and he raised his hand to his heart with a gasp, “Can a man not bring a woman breakfast without being guilty?” He sniffed and wiped at dry eyes. “I’m hurt, Brana.”

She rolled her eyes at the act and tossed an apple his way. “Fine, I suppose you’re innocent this time. Maybe.”

In answer, he wiggled his eyebrows and took a large bite out of his fruit. They fell into easy conversation over the food. Hvitserk did most of the talking, as usual. Brana liked it that way. His stories were entertaining and made the absence of her family feel smaller.

Hvitserk told her the story of how he and Ubbe had lost control of Ivar’s cart on the large hill outside the town, resulting in the vehicle dragging them both on the ground and then tossing all three of the boys into a pile of hay. Just as he was about to reveal Ivar’s scathing assessment of his brothers’ performance, a knock at the door interrupted him. Brana looked up in confusion.

“Has someone else begun visiting you?” Hvitserk asked and Brana shook her head before moving to answer the knock.

At her door she found a young boy, maybe 12 or 13 years old, hopping from foot to foot. He refused to meet her eyes, but spoke to her before she could ask him anything. “My mother said to come for you, miss. Said to ask if you knew how to drowse for water.” 

“Dowse, and yes, I know how.” Brana corrected him without thinking, but her brow furrowed. “Why come ask me and not Queen Aslaug?”

The boy stopped his hopping and looked up at her with a squint. “The Queen don’t do that kind of thing. Dad says she’s got more important magic to cast.” 

“Right then. I guess you can—” A thump from the roof interrupted her and she looked up at her ceiling. Another two thumps in quick succession had her looking back at the kid with a squint to rival his. She watched him gulp and avert his eyes before she stepped outside to check what the racket was.

The roof of her home was a gentle slope from the ground to peak, and up on top two young goats jumped around with each other, bleating and chewing on the soft grass growing there. Hvitserk walked out to join her and laughed when he saw what had her standing speechless.

“Are,” Brana had to clear her throat, “are those yours, kid?” 

His nervous hop was back, “Yes miss, they like your grass.” 

“Well, that’s adorable. Let’s get them down so we can go see your mom.” Brana grinned wide at the boy. He relaxed and together the two of them rounded up the little goats while Hvitserk watched with an amused smile.

With the boy and Brana each carrying a goat, the trio set off toward the road. The kid, Keld, explained that his parents’ well had dried up and they needed help finding a new spot to dig one. Brana knew how to dowse for the water; all she had to do was find a stick to act as a dowsing rod. She was just starting to explain the process to Keld when she noticed that Hvitserk had stopped walking with them.

“Is something wrong?” She asked, looking back at him. The fact that she’d been talking about witchcraft made her nervous, and she wondered if he’d react the way Sigurd had.

“No, I just figured you don’t need me around if you’re going to be busy.”

“I, I don’t mind if you want to come with, Hvitserk. It’s not a secret ritual or anything.”

“Yeah, but still. I should get back to the hall. Probably time to beat the snot out of my brothers.” He smiled at her and she realized her worries had been misplaced. 

“If you’re sure then.” Brana waved as he turned back towards town. He got a few feet away before she called out to him again, “Hvitserk, come again tomorrow.”

The smirk on his face had her regretting opening her mouth before he even responded. “Sure, but only if you promise to help.” She glanced over at Keld to see if he’d caught the innuendo, but he looked at them both with an innocent expression. 

“I changed my mind. Don’t show up, troll,” she yelled back, before turning on her heel to walk toward Keld’s farm. Hvitserk’s laugh followed her all the way down the road.

 

 

The walk to Keld’s farm had not been a short one, and dowsing had taken Brana most of the day. Still, by the time the sun began to set, Brana had marked a spot on the property with a ring of stones where she knew the family would find plenty of water. They’d been grateful, insisting she stay for dinner, and so Brana had received her first truly warm welcome in Kattegat. 

Now she walked home with a young goat in her arms. Keld’s father said the kid was payment for her work, but Brana was sure the cost of the animal was more than she’d earned. The milk she’d get when the goat was older was hard to turn down, though, so she thanked the farmer and assured them she’d be willing to help if they needed her for anything else.

The stars kept Brana and her new companion company on the path, and she pretended they were leading her to a familiar campfire and collection of tents. They only led her back to her shack though, silent and cold in the night. Once inside, she placed the sleeping goat on her bed and set about warming the room with a small fire. Before long, though, Brana climbed into the bed too and resigned herself to her dreams. Most nights she dreamed of Ylsa, long aching dreams that left her cold and empty come morning. However, that night the dream changed.

_ An ache in her chest woke Brana from her slumber. She turned over in bed expecting to find Ylsa sleeping next to her, but she found an enormous snake, black as a moonless night, in her place. The ache came again and Brana looked down to find the snake coiled around her body. Its scales were cold and smooth against her skin as it wound itself tighter.  _

_ Panic rose within her, and Brana opened her mouth to scream for help. The sound caught in her throat as the snake squeezed the air from her lungs. Unable to make any noise, and bound tightly, Brana could only watch in horror as the snake’s body slid around hers in endless spirals. A whisper of a touch against her ear and she jerked her head back to stare into the snake’s face.  _

_ Its eyes, his eyes, were an ocean blue, fathomless and bone-chilling. Brana fell into depths that drowned out the light of the fire. Down and down the snake dragged her. She closed her eyes for fear of what lurked in the dark. No sound reached her ears, no smell or taste distracted her from the constricting hold of her captor. Even that began to disappear, though, the pressure lessening until it became a comforting caress all around. _

_ Brana opened her eyes and found herself at the edge of a wide river. Heather grew wild on the banks and the sun shone down on the water’s surface. Birds called from the forest around her, and the current eased by with a gentle murmur.  _

_ Looking around, Brana noticed two figures in the distance downstream. Without thinking, she began moving towards them, pulled along as if the river had caught her in its flow. She heard an unfamiliar song as she moved closer. It played softly enough that she couldn’t tell where it came from. She couldn’t make out the words, but the melody sounded sweet and the voice was soothing. _

_ The two figures were recognizable as children now, and Brana stopped moving. She watched as she and Sigurd skipped rocks across the water. Her memory had forgotten some of the smaller details, like how he’d been missing a tooth or the way her braid had come undone in the fight. Brana tried to commit these details to memory, but when she blinked the children were gone. _

_ She spun around, looking for where Sigurd had disappeared too and spotted him on the other side of the river. He was almost the Sigurd she recognized. Young and strong still, but he’d grown out his bangs and beard more. Brana recognized the stone hung around his neck and smiled. Sigurd smiled back at her and said something she couldn’t hear over the sound of the river.  _

_ When Brana opened her mouth to call back to him, water filled her lungs. Sigurd and the river were gone and she was floating in the dark again. She struggled for air, legs and arms reaching out for something to push off of, trying to find some way to surface. Nothing. Her chest burned and her body felt heavy with fatigue. Something smooth brushed against her leg, and then a cold caress coiled around her. All she could see of that giant snake were its eyes staring at her from the impenetrable dark. _

Come morning, Brana remembered nothing of the dream, but her body felt heavy and sore and she hummed a tune she couldn’t place.

  
  


Word spread about Brana’s work finding well-water, and soon the locals of Kattegat were showing up at Brana’s home with small requests. They always insisted she take payment for her efforts, but she refused coin from all but the wealthiest of families. Despite her protests, they found other ways to pay her.

Brana found a hen in her home one afternoon. Another day she caught the blacksmith, Arvid, and his apprentice moving a small table and chairs through her door. The boat builder, Floki, and his wife, Helga, gave her a lovely chest after she wrote him a song for strong winds. Brana never ate breakfast in the kitchens anymore, because every morning she found fresh eggs and milk set by her door, and dinners in the great hall were no longer a lonely ordeal. Each night, she was invited to sit with some group and hear the day’s gossip.

Lessons with Aslaug happened only twice a week now. The Queen claimed she didn’t have much to teach her at this point, and that the practice would help Brana grow stronger. Brana didn’t mind this. She preferred the fresh air over the workroom, which still reminded her of a tomb even after a good dusting, and with the villagers she felt accepted rather than tolerated.

One morning Brana woke to Odd, a woodcutter, waiting in her yard with a shocking amount of lumber. He claimed it paid for his sister’s medicine and explained how she’d need to set up the posts and rails before fleeing. Brana knew by now that arguing with anyone from Kattegat would get her nowhere, so she resigned herself to putting up a fence over the next few days.

A few hours later she was digging and planting posts into the ground while Hvitserk leaned against the front of her home and watched. He spoke of his latest sparring match with Bjorn, and how close he’d been to winning. Brana had just finished her fifth post and was wiping the sweat from her forehead when she did a double take. 

Hvitserk was eating berries. Berries she knew for a fact he hadn’t brought with him because they were her berries. They’d been sitting on a shelf out of reach of the goat or the chicken, and she’d planned to use them in a brew for Aslaug’s cook. Hvitserk had helped himself to food in her home without even asking if it was safe to eat. She was struck by how stupid her friend was, and so she snapped.

“Hvitserk! Are you going to stand around eating my food, or are you going be useful?”

He stopped his description of Ubbe’s new sword and stared at her with infuriating calmness. “Do I get anything for helping?”

“How about I don’t curse your prick?”

“Ha, nice try Brana. You wouldn’t curse me.”

“Would you wager on that?”

“Of course I would. I’m your favorite person after all.”

“Okay, but when your piss turns blue and you can’t please Margrethe tonight I want you to remember that you’re my favorite.”

Hvitserk scoffed in disbelief and swallowed the rest of the berries. “You’re in a mood today, aren’t you? Perhaps you’ll appreciate my company more tomorrow.” He left Brana alone in her yard then, whistling as he headed back to town.

The next day when Brana returned from an afternoon spent weaving on the loom, with Aslaug watching her with judging eyes and picking out every mistake, she found a small fence up around her property. Hvitserk lay panting in the grass, the goat tugging at his shirt. He didn’t open his eyes until she was standing above him, blocking the sun. 

“Please remove the curse.”

“There wasn’t a curse, idiot.”

Hvitserk sat up and glared at Brana. “My piss is blue, and I couldn’t… it wouldn’t... “ 

“The berries.”

“Berries?”

“The ones you ate yesterday. It’s a side effect of eating too many. You’ll be fine by tonight.” She crossed her arms and smiled at his gaping mouth. “Perhaps now you’ll think twice about eating strange food in a witch’s home.”

“Oh. It really wasn’t a curse?”

“Really.”

“Thank the Gods.” He fell back into the grass with a smile before glaring at her again, “Wait a second. You tricked me!”

Brana laughed, clutching her stomach with the strength of it. She laughed until she couldn’t breathe and her eyes were wet.

“I hope that means you’ve fixed my brother,” came a voice from the shack.

She looked up and saw Ubbe in the doorway, with her chicken in his arms and an amused smile on his face.

“There wasn’t a curse! It was some weird berries and she let me think she’d done some kind of magic. She lied to me, and here I thought she liked me.” Hvitserk pouted at his brother, who just shook his head.

“Imagine what she’d have done if she didn’t like you.” Ubbe turned his attention to Brana. “Are the animals sleeping inside with you?”

Brana shrugged and replied, “Where else would they sleep?” 

Ubbe looked down at Hvitserk, who looked back at him and then smiled. “We’ll fix that.” They said in unison.

  
  


It was Brana’s fourth month in Kattegat when the girl went missing.

Dagny, the blacksmith’s daughter, hadn’t come home for dinner. Brana had seen her playing with the other children around town and had spoken with her when invited to eat with her family in the great hall. A brave little girl, and only seven years old. Her mother assumed she had just lost track of time while playing outside, but when she went looking for her, nobody in town knew where Dagny had gone.

The town formed search parties. Men and women alike prepared to comb through the woods and along the beach for the girl. Her parents, sick with worry, wanted to join the search, but Aslaug ordered them to stay home in case Dagny came back on her own. 

Brana did what she could. As quickly as she could, she braided finding charms for the search parties. Then she helped call for the girl in the woods until it grew too dark for her to see. After that, she resorted to scrying for her in the workroom.

She’d been bent over the scrying bowl, a golden basin from a raid seasons past, when Aslaug’s cook found her. 

“Here.” The old woman placed a bundle of dried herbs in Brana’s hands.

“What’s this?”

“The Queen’s dreaming tea. I used to steep it for her long ago. It helped visions come to her, so maybe it’ll help you.” 

“How much of it do I use?” Brana knew she’d drink the brew tonight. There wasn’t an option. The search parties still hadn’t found Dagny, and Brana knew the longer it took, the worse their chances were. Especially with winter almost on them.

After receiving instructions on how to brew the tea, Brana moved to the kitchens to begin the job. She didn’t want to waste time walking home, and it’d be easier to find a search party in the great hall if she learned anything.

The tea tasted bitter and sharp. Brana had trouble swallowing it all but did it for the child. Sitting in the workroom, she leaned forward to rest her head on the table and shut her eyes, praying to the Gods for their guidance.

_ Brana rose from her chair and turned to find the snake waiting behind her. He didn’t need to wrap his body around her tonight. She came to him in her own power and knelt to look into his eyes. The inky black of his scales swallowed the candlelight of the room and she dove into the depths of his gaze.  _

_ There was no fear when she found herself in the dark this time. She floated there in the nothing until she felt him brush against her. Brana moved forward, and he led her blindly through this place. Brana remembered a spring when she swam in a lake with Ylsa. The icy water had slowed her body’s reactions as she followed after Ylsa under the surface, but they’d both felt alive for the effort. This was a similar feeling.  _

_ She didn’t know how long she followed the snake, but at some point Brana noticed a light growing stronger ahead of them. She heard sobbing and willed herself to move faster. Finally, she reached Dagny. The young girl was curled in on herself, shivering with cold, and her sobs were weak. Brana’s stomach lurched when she caught sight of the girl’s leg, purple with swelling and not as straight as it should look. The girl was alive though, and Brana knew she needed to focus on making sure she stayed that way. _

_ The light came from far above them, a jagged hole in the dark, but it provided enough light for Brana to check their surroundings. Splintered wood lay around the girl and she realized Dagny must have fallen. The walls around them were rough rock and some dirt, but when she looked up the natural rock was replaced with wood lining. The ground beneath them was rock too, and Brana tried not to think about what would have happened if Dagny had hit her head. It was when Brana noticed the slightest trickle of water along the ground that she knew where to look for the girl. _

_ A sharp gasp from Dagny made Brana look over. The girl looked at her as if she was really next to her. Brana wondered if Dagny could see her and reached forward to comfort the child. Her hands passed right through and Dagny closed her eyes with a shiver. _

_ Brana pressed her lips together tight and turned to look into the shadows behind her. The snake waited, a silent observer to the dream. _

_ “Let me remember this when I wake, please,” Brana whispered. Her voice rang out clear and echoed against the stone. The snake blinked and turned to slither back into the dark. Brana followed. _

The workroom was brighter when she opened her eyes, and Brana realized she’d slept through to morning. Her heart fell and she hoped she hadn’t taken too long dreaming. Standing, she almost fell under the weight of her own body. That sense of knowing resting in her bones was worse than she’d ever felt it before. Brana gathered her balance and moved toward the hall as quickly as she dared.

“Hvitserk! Ubbe! Bjorn! Anyone?” She called through the longhouse as she walked, her steps growing stronger over time. No one answered.

She burst through the door to the great hall and came face to face with Sigurd. Stumbling forward, Brana caught herself on his arm. 

“Sigurd, listen, I—”

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in your hut?” Sigurd interrupted her with an edge to his voice.

“That doesn’t matter. Dagny—”

“Is still missing, and I’ve got to prepare the next search party. You’re wasting my time.”

“Sigurd listen to me I’ve had a vision. I know—”

He shoved her off of him and took a step back. She felt his scathing glare piercing her skin.

“I don’t care what you’ve seen. Keep your magic to yourself, witch.” 

Brana gaped at him in shock. As he turned away from her, she felt all her anger at his cruel words, his glares, everything he’d done that first day in Kattegat boiling inside her. Before she could question the wisdom of her actions, she grabbed a horn cup from the table beside her and flung it at Sigurd with all her might. Her projectile found its mark, connecting solidly with the back of his head.

He spun on her then, the snake in his gaze looking venomous, “You little—”

“Shut your fucking mouth! I don’t care what you think of my magic right now so long as you just shut up and listen to me. Not everything is about you, you selfish, stubborn, insufferable—”

“Brana! What is it then?” 

Her anger drained as she remembered the urgency of Dagny’s condition.

“I know where Dagny is. The old well on Keld’s farm. Her leg is broken and she’s cold.”

“Who’s Keld? Which farm?”

“North of here. An afternoon’s walk. I can show you.”

“You’ll stay here. I’ll round up a party and—”

“She doesn’t have that much time. I’ll go myself if you won’t help.” Brana went to move past him but he caught her easily.

“You’re in no condition to pull a child out of a well by yourself, idiot. Can you wait until I grab two horses?”

Brana didn’t meet his eyes and shifted her weight. 

“Well?”

“Yes that’s fine, but,” She said the next words under her breath as fast as she could.

“We don’t have time for this, but what?”

“I don’t know how to ride.” 

  
  


That was how Brana ended up on the back of Sigurd’s horse, arms wrapped tight around his waist as he pushed the animal to move faster down the road. It wasn’t ideal for the horse, or for either of its riders, but they didn’t have a better choice. 

“You’re holding too tight,” Sigurd grunted, the only thing he’d said since they’d left Kattegat.

Instead of replying Brana made an effort to loosen her grip on him, but it only tightened again the next time the harsh pace bounced her into the air. She could feel him sigh but he didn’t complain again.

They made it to the farm and found that the whole family was out searching for Dagny. Sigurd had to help Brana off the horse before she could move again. She led him to the field that held the old well, which she’d helped board up when she’d come to dowse for the new one. When they approached, she could see that the wood across the top had indeed caved in and she knew her vision had been true.

“She’s down there.”

“You’re sure she’s alive?”

Brana smacked his arm hard and ignored the snarl he gave back. “How do we get her out, Sigurd?”

“I’ll climb down with a rope. When I’ve got her you haul us back up with the lever.”

“I see you’re not much smarter than your brother.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re too heavy for the rope, or me. You’ll be stuck down there too, and I can’t ride the horse back for help.”

“What’s your idea then? You’ll magic her out?”

“No. You’ll lower me down with the rope. I’m smaller so you’ll have no trouble.”

“Okay, but you’re not strong enough to hold the kid.”

“I don’t need to hold Dagny. If I take some cloth down I can put her in a sling. You lift her out first, and then me.”

She watched him, daring him to argue with the plan. Instead, Sigurd just nodded. “Alright, that is a better idea. Where can we find cloth?”

“There should be a blanket inside. I’ll go get it while you clear the top of the well.”

Brana ran into the house and located the blanket as fast as she could. She folded it in her arms as she stumbled out the door. When she made it back to the well, she found that Sigurd had finished removing the wood. He helped her to tie the rope and cloth into a makeshift lift, and demanded she let him hold her as she eased into it to test her weight. Once he was sure Brana wouldn’t fall and hurt herself or Dagny he lowered her into the well.

At the bottom she found Dagny. The child was unconscious but breathing, and Brana hoped she wouldn’t wake up as they moved her. Trying to keep from brushing against the broken leg, she shuffled the wool blanket underneath Dagny as much as she could before having to lift the girl into the sling. Once she was sure the lift would hold, she tugged at the rope for Sigurd to haul it up.

Brana watched as the sling ascended, chewing at her lip and preparing herself for the worst. Dagny was lighter than her though, and Brana sighed in relief when she saw Sigurd grab the lift as it came within reach.

  
  


Later when they were headed back to town, Sigurd carrying Dagny in his arms and Brana leading his horse by a rope, Sigurd spoke again. “You were right today.”

“Hmm?” Brana hadn’t quite heard him. She was exhausted and kept losing focus.

“When you yelled at me. I wasn’t thinking about Dagny.”

“I know you weren’t. That‘s why I said it.”

“That’s,” Sigurd took in a sharp breath, “I’m trying to apologize here.”

“Then apologize.”

He was silent for a while, and Brana figured he couldn’t bring himself to say those two simple words to a witch like her. If she’d had more energy she might have been upset, maybe even furious, but right now she just wanted to go home.

“I’m sorry.”

She stopped in her tracks and the horse snorted behind her, as if it too was shocked to hear Sigurd apologize to anyone.

“I’m not saying it again.” He had turned to look at her now, and while Brana wouldn’t call his eyes soft, she also couldn’t claim they were filled with hate anymore.

“Thank you.” Her voice came out hoarse, but he heard and nodded.

“Come on. You need hot food, and sleep.”

One of the search parties found them before they reached Kattegat. Someone took Sigurd’s horse ahead to tell Dagny’s family the news, and one of the women came to help support Brana the rest of the walk home.

When the party arrived, Arvid and his wife were waiting on the road. They came forward to sweep their daughter up in their arms, tears streaming down their face. Aslaug was there too and ushered them towards the longhouse. Dagny needed a healer and a warm fire as soon as possible.

Everyone moved on to spread the word, either to people in town or to search parties still out looking. Everyone but Brana.

She sagged against the fence of her home and decided it wouldn’t be too bad to sleep outside, at least for a bit. Just until she had the energy to find something to eat. She didn’t hear the voice calling her name, or register the hand on her shoulder. Instead, she drifted off to sleep, softly humming along to a song she couldn’t place.

  
  


Sigurd sighed in defeat as he watched Brana slide onto the ground. Her home was right there, and she couldn’t make it through the door? Then he recalled the way she’d stumbled earlier that morning, and how she’d dragged behind on the walk back. She was clearly worse off than he’d first thought. 

“Brana, you can’t sleep out here.” She didn’t stir. “I’ll leave you here.” No answer.

Sigurd approached her and shook her shoulder. Her head simply rolled to the side. Brana was murmuring incoherently, but she was clearly asleep.

“Fuck.” He dragged a hand down his face and considered his options. He could leave her here and someone would probably find her before she got too cold, maybe. Could a witch curse you if they died? Probably not a good idea to find out.

He squatted down beside her and slipped his arms under her legs and behind her back, lifting her up with little effort. Holding her this close, he could hear that she was singing some kind of song. She had a nice voice, he realized, remembering how the old witch had called her “little bird”.

“I’ll wait beside the stream. My love, I’ll wait as long as you need,” Brana sang under her breath, barely audible.

“Of course you’d sing a ballad, you sentimental fool.” Sigurd couldn’t resist the urge to scold her, even though he knew she couldn’t hear him.

He carried her into the house and set her down on the bed, then tucked her into the furs and started a fire. Sigurd was just about to set out some food from her stores when he felt someone staring at him. He turned to the door, prepared to defend his actions, and found a goat watching him with a hard glint in its eye. 

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m just being… not an asshole.” He scowled, not wanting to admit that he’d been taking care of Brana as if he cared about her. Sigurd put down the fruit he’d found and directed his glare towards the sleeping woman. Clearly, she was to blame. 

Sigurd stalked out of the room, but not before making sure the little guard goat was outside and Brana’s door was shut securely. Without a glance back, he walked home, occasionally humming the song stuck in his head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bloom // The Paper Kites
> 
> My apologies for how long this has taken me.

Sigurd found it impossible to avoid thinking about Brana. The villagers had already talked of her before Dagny’s disappearance, but now the witch was their main topic. All week he overheard gossip about how she’d used her powers to save the child. They gossiped about his contribution too, of course. How Prince Sigurd must be so strong to lift child and witch out of the well together, and so kind to carry the lost child home. The praise pleased him and he enjoyed the attention it brought from the ladies of Kattegat. The stories that came after the praise were the problem.

Every time someone brought up the rescue, another person chimed in with a different story about Brana. It seemed like every person in town had either been helped by her or knew someone who had. Tale after tale of her kindness, generosity, and talent. Everyone believed she was just so wonderful and gods damned perfect. Sigurd doubted she was perfect, but he was beginning to believe she might be a good person. Even if she was a Volva.

“You’d like her if you gave her a chance Sigurd,” Ubbe said one morning. He’d caught Sigurd scowling after Hvitserk, who’d left the hall claiming that Brana was lovelier company than any of his brothers. 

“I don’t want to give her a chance. She’s bewitched you and Hvitserk both.” 

“Ah yes, she’s enthralled us with her entertaining stories and pleasant looks. Such a devious witch.” 

“Don’t mock me.”

“I wouldn’t mock you if you weren’t acting like a fool.” Ubbe frowned at Sigurd and continued, “All I’m saying is that you were once friends for a reason. Why care if she’s a Volva?”

“Volvur are liars. They’re power hungry and only care about what’s best for them.” Sigurd glared at his eldest brother, daring him to disagree. They both knew what that kind of selfishness had cost them over the years.

Ubbe let out a long sigh and leaned back in his chair. “Do you think you’re the only one who remembers those years? Hvitserk and I almost died.”

Sigurd slammed his palm onto the table, rattling the plates and cups as he leaned forward. “Then why do you visit Brana?” he hissed.

They looked at each other in silence. Ubbe calm but alert and Sigurd with narrowed eyes and bared teeth, two warriors sizing each other up for a fight. Ubbe spoke first. “Because I know that Brana isn't our mother.”

Sigurd watched him stand and head after Hvitserk. He had nothing to say in response. Ubbe was right, as much as he hated to admit it.

 

He spent the next few days doing whatever he could to distract himself from thoughts of Brana, training with other warriors, riding in the woods, and fishing on the beach. Sigurd figured the talk would die down soon enough, and then he'd no longer have to wonder why he'd stopped thinking of her as “the witch.”

Kattegat did resume talking about everyday topics, but only for Brana to capture Sigurd’s attention in a new way. 

Sigurd and his brothers returned from weapons practice in the late afternoon. He’d left his lyre on his bed and wanted to show Ubbe the new tune he’d been working on. Walking through the longhouse towards the back rooms, Sigurd stopped when he heard singing from the workroom. He knew it could only be Brana. His mother was the only other person to use the room, and she hadn’t sung since Ivar was a child.

He moved through the hall toward the open doorway, his lyre and brothers forgotten. Her song drew him in and reminded him of every story he’d heard the sailors tell of havsrå, sea women that knew the future and led sailors either to safe shores or to Rán’s cold embrace with their voice. Brana certainly matched the tales, though she lacked the fishtail and the crown of shells. Sigurd stood in the doorway now and watched her silently.

Brana stood at the loom weaving bright threads through the warp with a steady back and forth. Her voice rose and fell in time with the needle and weft. The rhythm of the lyrics followed the pattern of the fabric and the pause she made each time she lowered the shed rod always came at the right moment. Sigurd didn’t recognize the words as any song he knew, but he understood the meaning regardless. 

Her song was about the warmth of a home during winter’s night, the arms of someone holding you close after a nightmare, and that secure feeling you have when surrounded by those you love. Brana’s voice carried all of that and pulled it into the fabric itself. Just as she wove wool between the warp, she also wove love and protection. She paused for a moment and brushed her hair back from her face, the dark strands gleaming in the light from the window and making his breath catch.

Sigurd wondered what Brana was making, and who she was making it for. Did they know the magic she put into her work? Sigurd didn’t recognize this as the kind of magic he normally saw, but he couldn’t think of any other word to describe Brana’s actions. Rituals and sacrifice brought a heavy atmosphere with them. With drums echoing in the air and his mother’s otherworldly demeanor, as if possessed with a power greater than herself. They were exciting and enticing, but left a bad taste in his mouth the morning after. Watching Brana felt nothing like that. 

He still felt a power in her actions, but where the magic he’d seen before flooded and drowned those in its presence, this reminded him of the gentle ebb and flow of waves on the shore. It followed in the wake of her subtle movements as she worked the loom with a gentle grace he hadn’t noticed before. Sigurd realized there was a lot about her he hadn’t noticed, but a soft cough from his left tore his attention away from the serene focus in her face.

Ubbe was standing at the end of the hall with one eyebrow raised and a knowing grin on his face. Sigurd’s face heated and he glanced back to make sure Brana hadn’t noticed him standing in the door before moving silently towards his brother. The further he got from the workroom the more annoyed he felt, a scowl forming as he neared Ubbe. 

“It means nothing.” Sigurd snarled low. The amusement in Ubbe’s eyes only pissed him off more.

“It means I was right.” Ubbe retorted.

Sigurd rolled his eyes and pushed past Ubbe. He no longer felt like playing music for his brothers, or even like being in the same building as them.

“No one would blame you for staring you know. It’s a nice view.” Ubbe called after him not even bothering to lower his voice. Sigurd slammed the door to the hall in response.

 

While Sigurd avoided Brana for a few days after that incident, he found the lure of her singing too strong in the end. He didn’t want to get caught by any of his brothers though, and getting caught by Brana herself would be even worse, so he took it upon himself to chop more firewood in preparation for the growing cold. 

If he chopped logs outside the west end of the hall then he could hear Brana’s voice from the window above her loom. Of course, actually chopping the wood made it hard to hear her at all, so most of the time he stood around listening to her sing as she worked. The few times someone walked by, Sigurd would pick up the axe and split a log or two for show, and once the observer had passed he’d set it back down. He only let himself feel a little embarrassment when he brought in the pitiful pile of wood for the time he spent out back, but his glare kept anyone from commenting on it out loud.

Perhaps it was luck that his brothers hadn’t caught on to the sham. Sigurd wasn’t sure he could stand any more knowing smirks from Ubbe. If Hvitserk joined in or tried to comment on it Sigurd thought he might start a fight. If Ivar found out and teased him too then Sigurd would definitely start swinging. 

Sigurd knew he was being defensive and dramatic about the whole situation; even with himself. He changed his mind daily on whether or not Ubbe was right and if he should try to get to know Brana past the magic. Most days he could admit that he wanted to try, but he also knew there was no way he’d approach her in public. Not for shame or fear, but because Sigurd didn’t believe it to be anyone’s business if he were to act a little warmer toward her. 

 

It turned out that Sigurd didn’t have a choice in how to approach Brana at all, and no amount of planning would have prepared him anyway. He’d gone to walk in the forest and enjoy the crisp morning air. His usual path took him by the river and its steady babble, a sound that often helped clear his head and gave him a nice background for writing his songs. It was along the banks that he found Brana. She’d removed her shoes and sat at the edge of the river to soak her feet in the cold water. A basket of gathered herbs and fungi told him what’d she’d been doing in the woods this early.

Sigurd considered turning away and letting her have this moment alone. She looked so serene that he worried she wouldn’t take his company well. However, as he slowed his steps to give himself time to decide, he stepped down on a twig without seeing it. 

The snap interrupted the soft morning noises, and the birds fell quiet at the sudden intrusion. Brana’s head snapped around toward him and Sigurd watched as her entire body stiffened in response to finding him frozen there.

“I...,” Sigurd paused looking for something to say, “I didn’t know volvur needed to be up so early.” He realized his mistake when he watched her take in a long breath and saw her eyes go hard.

“So sorry to offend you with my witchy habits, Prince Sigurd.” Brana drew out the “so” with a grimace. “Allow me to gather my things and leave you to enjoy your river.” 

Part of Sigurd wanted to snap back and save face, but instead he took a deep breath and muttered, “I don’t own the river.”

Brana had been hopping around on one foot to try and put her shoes on and leave quickly, but stopped at his words. One leg still up in the air she stared at him as if he’d grown an extra head. He took that as a chance to continue.

“You were right back then. People can’t own rivers.” Her continued started to make him nervous. “You’re uh,” Sigurd cleared his throat a bit, “you’re right a lot.”

“For a witch?” Brana said low and Sigurd wondered if she might smack him if he got close.

“No! No, I didn’t mean it that way.” He took a step forward but pulled back when she raised her shoe in warning. He hadn’t forgotten the horn cup she’d pegged him with in the hall.

Brana stood straight and narrowed her eyes at him, crossing her arms as she said, “How did you mean it then?”

“Just that you’re right. In general. As a person. I don’t know.” He rubbed one hand over the back of his neck as he gestured with the other, trying to find the right words. Sigurd didn’t think this was going well at all, but he couldn’t turn back now. “Look I just… can we start over? Without the magic stuff? Can we try and be friends?” 

Her silence terrified him in a way. He had no way of knowing what she was thinking, but she didn’t look impressed. Still, Sigurd stood firm when she walked toward him, one foot still bare, and planted herself in front of him. 

“The magic stuff is part of who I am, Sigurd. I’m Volva. That isn’t going to change.” It felt like she was looking down her nose at him even though he stood a fair height over her. 

“I know, but I don’t see why we have to talk about it. You must have other interests?” Sigurd made sure he didn’t look away from her gaze or show how uncertain he felt. He wouldn’t give her any reason to think that she’d gotten under his skin. 

Brana squinted at him as if considering her words. “How about I don’t talk about specifics or tell your future? I’ll keep you in the dark as much as possible. In return, you stop shooting me nasty looks and keep your mouth shut if I’m talking about magic with someone else.”

“Deal.” Sigurd let out a rush of air in relief and moved toward the river, removing his boots to rest them in the water as she’d been doing earlier. It took a few moments before he heard her move to join him, though he pretended he hadn’t been listening for that.

They sat in tense silence without looking at each other. He hadn’t thought about what to do once she’d agreed to start over, but it seemed she was as lost as him. Sigurd tried to think of a safe subject and finally settled on music.

“I heard you singing the other day.” 

“Did you know this was where we first met?” 

They spoke at the same time. Sigurd met Brana’s eyes and noticed her cheeks flushing with heat. He smiled to try and put her at ease and was pleased when she laughed in response.

“I didn’t realize. I told you my memory of that day is a bit hazy.” Some of the tension left Sigurd’s shoulders as he started recalling the details he did remember.

“I don’t remember all of it either, but I remember this place.” She averted her eyes a bit but looked back at him when she asked, “So that was you chopping the wood outside the window then?”

“I suppose that wasn’t the most subtle activity.” Sigurd rubbed at the back of his neck again but stopped when he realized she was observing the movement with intense focus. He turned his gaze out across the river and watched the current flow by in silence again.

“Sigurd?” Her voice was soft and sweet, reminding him of how serene she looked at the loom, but when he looked at her Brana had an iron hard expression that made him gulp. She must have taken the silence as invitation because she continued. “Why did you change your mind?”

He froze at the question. Brana couldn’t have picked a worse thing to ask, because if Sigurd was honest with himself he had no idea why he’d changed his mind. Just that it had happened that day they’d saved Dagny. Still, Brana was waiting for an explanation and so Sigurd searched for one.

“You sing well.” Sigurd stammered out and tried to explain when Brana furrowed her eyebrows in response. “I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and then the more I thought about it the more I forgot why I wanted to be angry with you.”

He swallowed but didn’t look away from her. When she didn’t respond he kept going and hoped he wasn’t about to ruin everything. “I think that hearing you sing, learning that you liked to sing, made me realize that you’re still just you. You’re still just that girl I became friends with ten years ago, and I’ve been a complete ass since you came back.”

Brana bit her lip and cocked her head to the side. Sigurd wondered if she was weighing his words and deciding if they were enough. “You know you’re pretty terrible at apologizing.” She lay back on the grass beneath her to watch the branches sway above.

Sigurd’s eyes lingered on her face long enough that she glanced back at him with a quirked eyebrow. He turned up a corner of his mouth. “Yeah. I suppose I am.” He joined her on the ground and together they watched the forest move around them, the river tugging gently at their feet.

 

Brana and Sigurd didn’t see each other every day after that, or even most days. She had lessons and work. Plus there were the days when Hvitserk showed up at her door and dominated her time. Which irked Sigurd a little, though he never would admit it. 

Sigurd took those days to do his normal activities. He knew he could join in on Hvitserk’s visits if he wanted to. Ubbe did after all, but part of him kept back from doing that. Sigurd hadn’t even told his brothers that he and Brana had started over and were spending time together. Since none of them had brought it up, he suspected she hadn’t told them either. This made him happy in an unexpected way. He liked having her to himself without them interrupting and taking her attention.

They met at the river still. He’d walk into the woods first, making sure to take the path past her little home. As he walked, he whistled so she would know it was him even from inside. Brana would follow along after letting him get ahead of her. At the river bank they’d lay about talking together and savoring the dwindling daylight.

Brana and Sigurd talked about many things: music, family, news of the city, and more. They kept to the agreement and Brana only talked about magic in vague terms, sometimes mentioning that she did a favor for this person or that visitor. Sometimes the two didn’t talk at all, instead choosing to relax and enjoy the silence together. Watching the river flow downstream and listening to the birds sing to each other.

 

Sigurd waited by the river one afternoon, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. He’d trained with his brothers all morning and it had put him in a terrible mood, but still he wanted to see Brana. He leaned over the bank and scooped some of the water into his hands to scrub at the dirt on them, and then on his neck and face for good measure. 

The cold water stung at his hairline and Sigurd let out a soft hiss of pain. He reached up and pressed along the area, pain blooming with the contact. When he pulled his hand away, blood shone on his palm. Sigurd cursed low and began to apply pressure while looking for something to clean the wound, but Brana’s arrival interrupted him.

“Sigurd did you ever finish that song? I—Gods Sigurd you’re bleeding!” Brana’s face blanched and the she crossed the distance between them rapidly. 

His heart jumped a bit as she pulled him down to her eye level and began fretting over him. Brana slapped his hands out of her way and observed the long gash on his head with an obvious concern that made him want to puff up his chest. “It’s not so bad Brana, just a— ow ow ow stop poking it!” He tried to pull away, all bravado forgotten, but she held fast to his shoulder.

“Oh hush up you baby,” Brana huffed, but stopped prodding at the wound anyway. “We need to clean that. It’s nasty enough you might get something in it.” She stepped away from Sigurd and looked around the bases of the trees for some plant Sigurd knew he wouldn’t be able to recognize even if she described it in detail. So he just followed her and kept a hand pressed to the cut.

“Did that happen at training?” Brana didn’t look up from the forest floor as she searched around.

Sigurd let out a long noise of affirmation, too distracted by the sight of her leaning over the brush and moving her hair out of her eyes to give a full answer. He snapped out of it when he realized he’d been staring and began trying to look anywhere but at her. “Ivar threw an axe a little close for comfort. He didn’t like losing at archery practice.”

“Oh and I’m sure you had no hand in Ivar losing his temper?” Brana pulled a few leaves off a stem and stood to turn toward him. Sigurd tried to protest his part in upsetting Ivar, but she scoffed and he figured she knew better than to believe him innocent. 

“Chew these but don’t swallow. We’re going to spread the mulch on the wound.” Sigurd took the leaves she offered and popped them in his mouth with a grimace at the bitter taste. He let Brana lead him to a fallen log and sat down so he was level with her. She talked while he chewed, and pushed his bangs back from the cut to get a clear view of it. “You shouldn’t tease Ivar so much you know. He’s volatile and impulsive.” 

Sigurd rolled his eyes at the same lecture everyone gave him, but looked back at Brana with a stern glance when she smacked his thigh. “I’m serious Sigurd. You could end up very hurt someday.”

He spat the mushed leaves out into his palm, and then spat a few extra times to the side to get the taste out of his mouth before replying. “Didn’t think you’d be so worried about me getting hurt.”

“I’m not. I just don’t want to be the one to clean up the mess you two will make of each other.” Brana replied without a trace of amusement in her eyes as she scooped some of the mush from his palm and started spreading it along his cut. 

Sigurd couldn’t quip back through the hiss he let out as she smoothed the medicine over his skin. He held still for her though, and only clenched his fingers tight when she pushed too hard. When Brana let out a soft yelp, Sigurd looked at her in confusion before realizing that at some point he’d placed his hand on her hip, and was currently digging his fingers into it.

He pulled his hand away and cleared his throat, trying to think of something to say to make her stop watching with those observant eyes. “So... did you ever have to anything like this for Ylsa?”

“Of course not, Unna cared for injuries and we observed for a lesson.” Brana shrugged as if anything about her life before Kattegat should make sense to him.

“Did you only observe for lessons, or did you hold Ylsa’s hand and comfort her too?” Sigurd acted casual with his question. He’d been trying to find a way to ask about Ylsa for a while now, and this seemed like a good opportunity. 

Brana pulled her hands away and wiped them on her apron, which Sigurd took to mean he could wipe the rest of the medicine off on the log beneath him. “Why so curious about Ylsa today?” Brana matched his casual tone, but from the expression on her face he knew she’d caught on to him.

Sigurd met her gaze and shrugged, still the picture of innocence. “Your voice is different when you talk about her. Softer. You also look away and seem like you’re trying to concentrate on staying here.” He’d noticed these things and wanted to know more about the woman who could put that expression on Brana’s face. Why she’d become so important to Brana.

Brana’s gaze softened just like he knew it would and it took her a moment to answer. “Ylsa was, is, important to me. We were close.”

“So she was like a sister to you?”

“No, not like a sister.” Brana grimaced at that idea before explaining. “Ylsa and I were… involved.”

Sigurd blinked slow. He took in how she fidgeted and bit at her lip, nervous tells he’d picked up these last few weeks. Finally he connected the pieces when he noticed her cheeks flushing. “Ooooooh. Involved. That’s… was that common?” He kept his eyes on her face and thought about swords, ships, anything bloody and violent. Anything that would be the opposite of two soft young women tangled up in each other.

“More than you’d think? When you get a bunch of women together without the company of men for weeks at a time then things sometimes develop.” Brana relaxed a little, as if talking about general cases was easier than talking about her and Ylsa specifically. “Some women, like Ylsa, preferred such things even with the company of men.”

“Did you?” Sigurd blurted out before he could stop himself. 

Brana held his gaze long enough that he looked away before she answered. “I met a few men in some towns, but Ylsa was always more important.”

Sigurd nodded and didn’t offer her any reason for why he’d been so curious. He looked back at Brana and met her stare with his own. They sat and observed each other without talking before he leaned forward. He noticed how she tensed the closer he got to her face and told himself his racing pulse had nothing to do with how she’d shut her eyes and licked her lips.

Silently he reached behind his head and pulled a leather tie from his own braids. Leaning closer so she could feel his breath on on her cheek and smiling when her breath caught. He swept her hair up and back with practiced hands, pulling it into a low ponytail as he tied it out of her face. 

If anyone stumbled upon them now they’d find the prince with his arms around the witch as if he were embracing her, and their faces close and hidden by his own hair. It’d be a difficult position to explain away as innocent. No one found them though, and Sigurd pulled away without lingering.

Brana opened her eyes when he sat back and there was some unknown weight in them that Sigurd didn’t recognize. It reminded him of how she looked when speaking of Ylsa, but was different in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. It was gone in a flash though after he practically put his foot in his mouth.

“So what was… it… like to be with Ylsa.” Sigurd put an emphasis on the it that left no mystery to his meaning.

Brana’s cheeks flushed again and he watched her jaw clench before realizing he’d said the wrong thing. The next thing Sigurd knew both of her hands were shoving him backwards and he was falling off the back of the log. 

He flailed his arms and tried to catch himself, but Brana had moved too swift. Sigurd hit the ground on his back hard and had to take a moment to remember how to breathe.

“Do you always shove your patients off their seats when their time is up?”

“Only when they ask nosy questions they have no right to.” She leaned over the log to scowl at him, but he noticed how she also looked down his body to check for injury.

Sigurd gave a slight smile and stretched out as if he’d meant to be laying on the forest floor and she’d done him a favor. “Oh come on, you can’t tell me Hvitserk hasn’t asked for details either.”

Brana scoffed at him and moved to brush her hair back, but stopped when she remembered he’d tied it back and so it wasn’t falling in her face. “Hvitserk isn’t quite as observant as you. I doubt the idea has ever occurred to him.”

“Fair point. Don’t ever tell him by the way. He’d take it as a challenge.”

“He probably would.” Brana laughed then and climbed over the log to offer Sigurd a hand. “Come on, you need food to speed up that healing.”


End file.
